Prompt:
Five times John watched someone walking away from him, and one time he knew someone will never let him go.
I.
"Harry? What are you doing here?"
John's sister was clinging to the doorjamb, eyes bleary and grinning the grin of the extremely intoxicated. It was 7pm on a Tuesday.
"Can't a girl drop by to see her only brother?" Harry slurred, tottering dangerously despite her white-knuckled grip on the frame of the door. John grimaced at her breath - the smell alone was practically enough to get him drunk.
"Dammit - get in here before anyone sees you like this." John hissed. Especially Sherlock or Mrs Hudson. Getting his sister up 17 stairs and into the flat was no mean feat, but at last, Harry was in his armchair with a cup of tea in her trembling hands. He'd surmised enough from her muttering and half-sentences that she's attempted a reunion with Clara and it had not gone well at all.
John was glad his flatmate was on a case; anything to keep this from him. Of course Sherlock knew about the drinking - he'd deduced it moments after he and John had met, after all - but knowing about it and having it in your flat are two very different things. The only reason John wasn't with him was the bout of food poisoning John had caught the day before. After spending 6 hours in the loo, he felt fine but was definitely too weak for a case. Sherlock had been texting him all day with musings, rhetorical questions and quick stories about how incompetent Anderson was.
"Harry, listen." John began gently. She'd just finished a very amusing - to her - story about one of her coworkers and now she was contemplating the ceiling. When John spoke, she slowly turned her head to him, clearly trying to focus just on him. "I know a couple of good detox places in and around London. I know you're not keen on the idea - " he rushed on when Harry's eyes narrowed mutinously, "but I really think it could help." He locked onto her gaze, trying to put all of his feelings in that one look.
"Don't you fucking pity me, John Watson." Harry hissed, incensed at the suggestion that she had a problem that needed dealing with. "Having a couple of drinks now and then isn't a big deal, especially when you've been through what I have. My sodding wife left me, my boss knows fuck-all about anything and now my brother PITIES me!" Standing unsteadily, she threw the teacup against the wall, shattering spectacularly. John simply stared at the pieces, transfixed. Harry began to cry. "Don't pretend to understand, John. You can't relate, no matter how hard you try. You've never been in love and you've never had a job you hate so just sod off and leave me alone!"
John was entirely unable to speak. He watched, wide-eyed, as his normally - well, when sober - retiring sister stormed out of his flat. He heard her stumble on the stairs, swear, then bluster out the door.
He didn't see her for four years.
II.
The first time John has a sexual encounter with a man is at uni.
They have biology together, and while John is rather the stellar student, his lab partner, Arthur, is decidedly not. John shyly suggests a study session before a test worth a good portion of their grade, and Arthur is embarrassingly grateful. They stand outside the door to the lab, and John says, "Well, I'll see you tonight, then." and Arthur grips his shoulder in gratitude.
"Thank you, John." Arthur stares into his eyes a heartbeat too long, and John feels his own heart flutter in response. Ducking his head, he hurries to his next lecture.
That evening, precisely on time, Arthur knocks on John's dormitory door. John takes a few moments to prepare himself - he's been careful not to think about Arthur in his room, but now it's actually happening! - so as not to go all to pieces, and opens the door. Arthur is easily handsome in his blue jumper and dark gray jeans.
They settle in for a night of hard study. Arthur actually is very bright and a quick learner, but they both agree that their professor's teaching style leaves much to be desired. Under John's tutelage, they fly through the chapters. Arthur is euphoric that he won't be failing and John is high on the sensation of helping someone, guiding them. Arthur is also constantly praising John for his brains and for being such a help even though they don't know each other that well.
After a while, the conversation becomes decidedly less about biology and more about each other. They discuss their home lives, siblings, future goals, and are just venturing in to past relationships when John, a slightly panicked look in his eye, jumps up, realizing only then how closely they'd been sitting.
"I'll just go make tea, shall I?" John blurts out, retreating to the door. Arthur is already there, gently refusing to let John leave. He cups John's face in one hand, tips up to his, brushes a gentle thumb over a cheekbone. John sighs at the contact and Arthur moves closer, leaving only inches between their bodies. John's blue eyes search Arthur's green ones, and he seems to find what he's looking for. He gives in to the contact, relaxing against the door as Arthur crowds further into his space. Finally, Arthur kisses him, really not much more than a brush of lips across lips. John responds, a little timidly at first, but with more vigor as Arthur grabs his head in both hands and gives him a proper snog.
John's hands find their way under Arthur's jumper, feeling warm skin and smooth muscle and lets his fingers map out all the hollows and planes he can find. Arthur tugs off John's tshirt then his own jumper and takes one of John's trembling hands to take him to bed.
Arthur lays on his back, settling John on top of him. John can feel both erections under him and groans at the new sensation. Arthur pushes his hips up roughly and John gasps "More" into the dark. At this, Arthur grins and pushes John off of him so he can divest himself of jeans and underwear. John does the same, watching Arthur's cock the whole time. It is stiff and thick with want, the head large and red.
"Come 'ere, John." Arthur purrs, and John shivers to hear his name pronounced to sinfully. Clambering between Arthur's thighs, John comes face to face with his first dick and hesitates slightly. Arthur, however, is in no mood for this and seizes his cock in one hand and John's head in the other. He roughly inserts his cock into John's mouth and begins fucking it. John is helpless under the onslaught - Arthur is stronger than him. He tries to relax and find a rhythm of his own, bur Arthur has other ideas.
"Mmm yeah take it... oh you've got a sweet mouth, John... yes you do..." Arthur whispers as tears run down John's face. When John tries to move away, Arthur wrenches his head back down savagely, hissing, "You asked for this, rutting against me on your door - you asked for this to happen you slut!" John's disagreements are lost around Arthur's cock, which is trying to find its way down John's throat. John gags viciously, but Arthur keeps fucking, only telling him to relax his damn throat.
John is in agony. Arthur's thrusting is erratic, so he can't find a good rhythm in which to relax. He doesn't really know what he's doing, and the terse, angry instructions from Arthur only make him more flustered. Finally - finally - Arthur groans that he's coming and spills his semen into John's mouth. He swallows it, intuitively knowing there would be hell to pay if he didn't.
Spent, Arthur shoves John out of the way so he can get up and find his clothes. John watches, silent, wondering when Arthur will come back to bed - he has to reciprocate, right? Isn't that the way this works? I give and then -
"Wait - " John chokes out as Arthur turns the door knob to leave.
Arthur turns to him, astonished. "I'm not gay, mate." Chuckling, he slips out, leaving John in the dark.
III.
The first time John goes out to a crime scene with Sherlock, he runs into a rather familiar face - Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Either the older man doesn't remember his conversation with John, or doesn't want to - either way, he avoids John's eyes and John can't help feeling a little smug.
Upon returning from Afghanistan, it only takes John a few days to realize that he will not be at all content sitting in the flat the army provided, watching bad daytime telly and getting old. He spends several days stumping around London with his cane, looking for doctor's office, hospitals - anything that might hire a doctor just home from the way. Most say they're full but will keep his information on file should anything turn up, and John has to be satisfied with that.
Leaving St Bart's, he overhears a conversation an attractive, silver-haired man is having on his cell phone.
"That's another medical examiner gone. Dropping like flies, they are." the man sighs, wiping a hand over his face. John stops and tries not to look like he's eavesdropping. "Didn't like the murders. I know! Unbelievable." The man listens for a few moments more, nods, realizes the person on the other end can't see him, and says, "On it. Bye." and disconnects the call.
Well, can't hurt to try, right? John thinks, and limps over to the (even-more-attractive-up-close) man.
"Excuse me - I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, the one about needing a medical examiner?" John puts out a hand. "Dr John Watson."
"Greg Lestrade. And yeah, we do need one. Can't keep them with us these days." Lestrade gives John a once-over, taking in the cane and the haunted, haggard look in the blue eyes. "What kind of training you got?"
"Trained here at St Bart's, then went into the Army -" John breaks of when Lestrade begins to shake his head.
"Sounds like you know your stuff, but having vets around crime scenes can get... complicated." Lestrade looks extremely ill at ease, and when John doesn't comment, continues. "Flashbacks, PTSD, that kind of thing. Can't have the only medical man on site go to pieces on us, can we?" Lestrade chuckles awkwardly while John attempts a smile. "Anyway, sorry, mate." Lestrade shakes John's hand again and rushes off.
IV.
After the Black Lotus incident, John asks Sarah on another date. She accepts and Sherlock is conspicuously absent (John may or may not have begged Mycroft to fin a way to distract Sherlock for the evening). John does not take her to Angelo's - a part of him rebels at the very thought of taking her to his and Sherlock's place. (He tries not to think about why that part yells so loudly.) Instead, they go to a small French cafe and trade stories about their patients at the surgery over croissants. Meaningful looks begin over their second cup of coffee, and when John invites her to the flat for a nightcap, she happily accepts.
Back at 221B Baker Street, Sarah idly pokes around the living room while John puts away his jacket. She makes more noise than Sherlock, which sets John's teeth a little on edge, but when she comes to him and kisses him, he welcomes her into his arms. John can feel her breasts pressing against his chest and he twines one arm around her waist while the other hand tangles in her hair. She deepens the kiss, touching her tongue to his lips, seeking permission to enter. He opens for her and she breathes a sigh into his mouth. Sarah tugs him toward the couch, and they are falling onto it even as his brain whispers But that's Sherlock's couch...
She settles on top of him, rocking her hips against his crotch and if she feels that he's not getting aroused, she doesn't mention it. John thrusts both hands into her hair and pulls gently, exposing her neck for him to kiss and lick. He tries to pretend that it doesn't matter that her throat isn't long and pale, that he's okay with her being shorter than him with legs that don't go on for days, that her hair is blond, that she is a SHE, that she isn't
"Sherlock..." John breaths.
Sarah freezes. John blinks.
"That was... unexpected." John grits out.
"It was at that." Sarah replies, jumping off of his lap as if scalded.
"I'm sorry, Sarah. I thought - I think I'm - "
"Gay." Sarah nods. "I wondered, with all the talk of your ruddy flatmate and the running around and catering to his every whim." She stops, closes her eyes, pulls herself together. "Does he know?"
"No."
"Does he make you happy?"
"Yes."
Sarah manages a small smile, gets her jacket, and leaves quietly.